She heard him lock the door with her wand.

A special lock.

A sealing lock.

One he had learned from her a long time ago.

"Potter," he muttered under his breath. "Always has to go and ruin a perfectly good plan."

Her eyes were downcast as he calmly retook his seat. She wished she could disappear.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," he sighed, clasping his hands on the table.

There was a pregnant pause and she thought that maybe this was all in her head. It wouldn't be the first time she dreamed him up, it wouldn't even be the eleventh…

"We should talk."

"I don't want to," she whispered rubbing her wrist where her bracelet once was. "I—"

There was a bang on the door, and then another. Muffled yelling coming from outside. Someone had either heard the commotion or one of them had regained consciousness and was trying to get back into Kingsley's office.

With another flick of his wand, the room suddenly fell silent again.

"Ignore them," he said softly. "It's just us now, okay?"

She nodded, tears trailing down her face. "Okay…"

"Is there anything you'd like to tell me, Hermione?"

Hermione played with her fingers, looking down at her lap, at the room, anywhere but at him. She pressed her eyes closed shaking her head.

"I need to hear you say it."

She raised her eyes slowly, hesitantly to his. The person staring back at her was unrecognizable. Brown hair, brown eyes, middle-aged, mundane… nothing like him. It made confessing easier.

"I slept with Theo."

He said he had wanted to hear it out loud, but his face was visibly etched with pain.

"I knew... when I saw you two together at the Memorial Ball… the way you were looking at each other… talking in whispers, like you could keep it a secret… you were both so obvious."

She sniffed. "I promise," she tried telling him, "it ended before it even started."

But he wasn't listening. He was staring at the table now too, his eyes empty. "He always did find you pretty…"

The silence was unbearable.

"How did you get past Theo's wards to leave Yaxley's wand?"

Draco's lips lifted into a small smile. "It was easy enough. I took it with me when we went to search the Manor. Planted it, ordered some Auror to look behind all the portraits and voila."

"Were you going to just leave him in Azkaban forever?"

"No," he frowned, folding his arms. "Just for a little while, till he'd learned his lesson."

"What lesson?"

Brown eyes snapped to hers. Unflinching. "What do you think?" he hissed.

Her shoulders caved in under his accusing stare. "We thought you were dead," she whispered in a small voice.

"Then you killed me twice," he murmured.

Tears were gathering in her eyes, wondering if he may ever forgive her. He certainly hadn't been merciful to Theo. "Is that why I'm here Draco? Will you punish me too?"

Draco didn't answer.

"Do you," she sniffed, "do you not love me anymore? Is that why you put me through this… charade?"

He was quiet for a long time, his jaw clenching and unclenching, and she thought his silence was his answer. In those few moments, before he spoke, she wanted to shrink into herself and wither away.

In a dejected voice, he whispered, "I think I'll love you till it buries me..."

She brushed the back of her hand against her cheeks, wiping away tears.

Gulping, she asked, "What did you do with the real Agent Finn?"

"He's somewhere in the Caribbean's, lying on a beach, sipping mojitos and enjoying his paid leave…"

Hermione clenched her teeth. "And is that what you've been doing all these years?" she demanded, her hand wiping more tears. "Lying on a fucking beach, enjoying yourself? Plotting murders and frame jobs when you finally got bored?"

He made no reply, simply staring at her with those dead empty eyes.

"Were you living it up in St. Tropez while we were burying you?! Were you in Vegas spending your nights in a casino, gambling and taking in the sights while we grieved you—!"

His fist came down hard against the table, and she flinched, his magic cracked the wood.

"Don't you dare—don't you fucking dare insinuate that I chose to leave you! Love is sacrifice, Hermione, and Merlin knows, I have loved you fiercely. Everything I've done, I have done for you!"

Red, hot angry tears streamed down her face. "Don't use me to justify the things you've done."

"And how do you justify sleeping with Theo? Hm?"

A mournful sob burst from her lips. "You were dead," she cried jolting up from her seat. "You're still dead! I can't even look at you right now! I can't even look at you because you're not even you, you're some Muggle, a strange man I've never seen before—!"

"Sit down—"

"NO!" she screamed, pointing a trembling finger at him. "You promised me that when it was all over, you would come back and you broke that promise! I broke your heart? YOU BROKE ME—I'm shattered all over!"

Draco had risen and come around the table.

"Please, calm down—"

"CALM DOWN? Calm down! How can I calm down?! You're dead Draco—dead!" Hermione tried to inhale but there was no air in the room.

"I-I'm dreaming," she whispered frantically, her fingers touching her face, seeing if it was solid. "Is it a bad dream? Yes, it's always a bad dream..."

He swallowed, his throat bobbing.

"Hermione, please."

Her head throbbed something fierce. She couldn't… couldn't think straight. She brought her fingers to her right temple and rubbed hard, whimpering at the pounding.

Hammer to head.

Axe to throat.

Her head, she couldn't make sense of anything.

"I must have…" a sob escaped her chest, "must have loved you in another life… and it travels the way starlight does…burning me… burning a hole through my head."

He took a step toward her.

"You're in shock. Take a deep breath—"

"DON'T!" she screamed, wrenching her face from his caress. "Don't fucking touch me, looking like that!"

He reached for her again and she slapped him across his face. "Not real!" she screamed, pounding her fists against his chest, sobbing and spewing all her hatred for him. He allowed it until she grew tired, falling onto him, her fingers clutching at his shirt. "I hate you," she cried, burying her face into his chest. "You died and I hate you…"

She felt arms wrap around her, arms to hold her up. Because it was too hard to stand, so she just let him hold onto her, just for a little bit longer.

His voice trembled in her ear; broken. "I'm so sorry, baby."

And that voice.

It belonged to Draco. His body. His vocal cords. His everything.

"You don't know the things I've lost..."

Hermione raised her eyes to his.

Grey.

The most beautiful color in the world, she decided.

The pounding on the door had started again, but nothing could break their gaze upon each other. She could only stare, wide-eyed at the ghost of Draco Malfoy.

His throat bobbed. "The spell won't hold much longer," he whispered.

But she wasn't ready to let go...

"I'm not done with you."

Tucking an errant curl behind her ear, he rasped, "Neither am I."

Hermione gasped as she felt something cold and metallic press against the skin on her chest. Then, she was being pulled, a nauseating tug at the pit of her stomach. Right when she thought she'd be sick, it stopped and she gulped for breath as if she'd been underwater for a very long time.

"What did you do to me?"

There was something wrong, her head… it felt light and—she brought her fingers to the bridge of her nose pressing her eyes closed.

Hermione swayed where she stood, falling on her knees and hands onto rough cobbled stone. She clutched at the ground, feeling like she needed to anchor herself to something.

"Illegal portkey. The trip can be a little disorienting," he explained. "You need to lie down. What you're feeling will wear off."

She stood up quickly, which was a mistake. Everything became topsy-turvy again and she fell backward, colliding with a wall. She threw her head back and laughed.

Funny word, she giggled to herself. Topsy-turvy.

"Come on," said Draco, holding her steady by her arm.

She raised her hand, reaching to caress his cheek but as her fingers came close to brushing his skin, she recoiled, scared to break the spell she was under.

Breathlessly, she asked, "Have I died?"

"No," he sighed.

"But you did," she choked, suddenly remembering. Because everything was foggy and there were things that made sense, that made her want to laugh, like the word topsy-turvy and then there were the things that didn't, that made her want to cry.

"Come inside and lie down."

Her eyes moved slowly over his face, studying every feature, every curve, and every line. She fixated on his mouth, those lips that knew to devour.

She reached out again, and this time she let her thumb brush his bottom lip. "You're more beautiful than I remember…"

Draco caught her hand as she was letting it fall. He held it against his cheek and closed his eyes. As he was doing so, Hermione swayed again, almost falling but Draco caught her, lifting her into his arms like she was a child.

"Let's go inside," he said softly. "You're hurt."

She looked at her hands. Her palms were chafed from falling on the cobblestone and her knees stung.

"I'll take care of you."

For the first time, Hermione allowed herself to look away from Draco. Nothing looked familiar.

"Where are we?" she gulped, still feeling lightheaded.

"South of France. A small town called Mougins."

Hermione buried her nose in the crevice of his neck. It helped calm her mind and the spinning. She'd always been prone to getting carsick but it was nothing compared to what she was feeling now.

"You smell different," she murmured absentmindedly.

"What?"

"You'd give me your shirt to wear and it would smell of citrus and spice, and," she closed her eyes, remembering, "the woods after it's rained. But now, it's a little different."

He didn't respond and she felt them go up a flight of steps, then heard a jingle of keys.

The sound of it was so normal.

She dared to open her eyes as he walked in and laid her down on something soft. A sofa. It was dark and she winced when he drew the curtains open. Looking around, she saw it was a small flat. Smaller than hers, but it was French and beautiful in all its subtleties. And what she noticed before anything else, was that it was completely and utterly muggle.

Hermione watched quietly as he took off his suit jacket, which now hung on his lean frame, and set it down on the sofa next to her. She watched as he went to the kitchen and opened a drawer, taking things out. He came and knelt on the floor in front of her, setting them down.

A small towel, a bowl of water, gauze, antiseptic—

"What...?" Her voice was hoarse. "What are you doing?"

"Cleaning the wounds," he said, taking her hand.

A shiver ran down her spine—electricity, magic, nerves, she didn't know what—when he took her hand and gently washed the wound in the bowl. Her fingers itched to thread between his in the water.

"Why don't you just use your wand?" she asked.

He stilled. "Is that… is there a spell for this?"

Something clicked in her mind. She sat up slowly and the world didn't spin this time.

"Or if you have dittany," she suggested.

Draco's gaze met hers again, almost embarrassed. He repeated the word softly to himself, tasting it in his mouth.

"You used to know healing charms," she told him.

"Oh."

"You can't remember," she gulped. Not a question, a realization.

He didn't answer.

"What's my middle name Draco?"

He had finished cleaning her wound, but his fingers continued to caress hers in the water, his thumb caressing the back of her hand and she felt it again. That uncontrollable trembling of her body.

But he still hadn't answered the question.

"What's my—"

"Hermione Jean Granger… I remembered it far before I could remember my own… I used to whisper it to myself, trying to understand what it meant."

"But how?"

"I don't know," he replied. "I woke up on a small fishing boat and I was just…blank."

Hermione moved forward, on the edge of the sofa. "How did you start to remember again?" she asked eagerly. Perhaps she could do the same for her parents, get them to remember the way Draco had.

"I was riding a friend's bike. A truck almost hit me. I disappeared and reappeared somewhere else. I thought… I didn't know what to think. I was scared..."

She was quiet for a moment trying to picture him riding a bike, a muggle vehicle. She wondered if he remembered how to ride a broom.

"I think using magic triggered it. Because after that night I started to remember, flashes of memory but out of order. Random. And not all at once. I remembered the password to the Slytherin common room before I remembered my mother's name..."

Then he stood and began to clear things away. Hermione didn't know what to say, or what to do with herself except sit there on the divan, mute and dumb in a bridesmaid dress.

"They're going to come looking for you," he swallowed. "For me."

"I looked for you," she said, a frown on her face trying to understand why her spell hadn't worked.

He scoffed, shaking his head as if he didn't believe her. "No, you didn't."

She stood, her feet taking her to him. "Of course, I did—"

"No," he breathed. "You couldn't have. You… you're Hermione Granger. If you looked for me, really looked for me, you would've found me."

"I tried!"

He slammed one of the drawers shut. "Well, you should have tried harder!"

Her lip trembled, her eyes stung… because how dare he…

"You think I just gave up on you? I looked for you, for months, but you disappeared and I… I couldn't live like that. It wasn't living. It was... I was rotting away. It became painful—and you don't know how lonely it was. You don't know because you couldn't even remember me—but I missed you!" she rasped, gripping his shirt. "I missed you till my skin was crawling and my ribs were cracking—"

His lips were a breath away. And her eyes stared at them, wondering if he knew how difficult it was to not lean in… to rip him to pieces…

"Do you love him?"

The question was a douse of cold water and it made her back away.

His eyes were glazed and she was afraid of seeing him cry.

The silence drew out and the first tear fell, running down his cheek. He stepped into her, so close, their noses brushed and the lights in the apartment flickered. Her magic or his, she didn't know.

"DO YOU?" he burst.

Hermione flinched, almost ran from him. She was so lost to her love for him that she sometimes forgot how dangerous he really was.

"Yes."

His face contorted in anguish and his forehead fell on hers, more tears trailing down his face. She cupped his cheeks, stroking his soft skin.

"It's not the way you think," she whispered urgently. "It's not the same, not the way I love you—"

"You don't—"

"I do," she cried. "It was only once Draco. I promise it was one night—"

"That's not what eats at me the most," he rasped, removing her hands from his face and stepping back. "The years you had with him—and what did we have?" his arm flung out, knocking over a ceramic vase. "Months!" And he was sobbing, his eyes red and his body shaking from the fury of it. "Not even—because they were full of lies and secrets and hiding!"

Hermione had never seen him like this and it scared her. Scared her more than the gruesome murders, than empty eyes and the silence.

"It's because of what I did, isn't it?"

Hermione hid her arm behind her back. Maybe he didn't remember, and he was talking about something else. She prayed he didn't remember because she didn't want either of them to.

"What do you mean?"

His chest expanded, taking a calming breath and his eyes focused, composing himself.

"Show it to me."

"Draco—"

Draco grabbed her arm, forcing it forward. He only had to touch it and the concealment charm flickered once and faded away. He stared at the scar as if seeing it for the first time as if he hadn't been the one to cut it into her. And then he was kissing it, wet tears over scar tissue, in desperation. She wrenched her arm free and shoved him with all her strength that in his misery he fell against the dining table.

"Don't!" she hissed. "Don't kiss it, or touch it, don't even look at it… just…" she calmed, lowering her voice and blinked the tears out of her eyes. She remembered how easy it was to win with him. To distract and manipulate him. She reached for his hand, entwining their fingers. "Just pretend it never happened okay? It can be just like it was. We can stay here and forget about everything outside these walls… the way we used to."

She placed her palm on his chest, over his heart. "You're still mine," she whispered against his lips. "Aren't you?"

His throat bobbed, his heart pounding underneath her hand and she thought she'd won.

"Why aren't you inside me, Draco? Why are we still talking?"

But when she slid her hand down to his trousers, he grabbed her wrist so roughly she gasped.

"I can't," he choked. "I can't pretend."

She pulled her hand away angrily. "You ruin everything," she hissed. Then she turned on her heel and stormed into a room, slamming the door behind her.

It was a fairly small bedroom compared to what she imagined his room growing up in Malfoy Manor to be like. It was tidy, the bed was made, a few muggle books on his bedside table. She walked to the large French ornate windows, giving her a view of the street below.

France… she was in France.

The room was stifling. The South of France in summer, she was beginning to realize, was hot. She opened the window, the paint on them peeling. A breeze blew in but it was warm. She drew the curtains closed hoping to keep the sun out.

Hermione jumped when she heard the pop of apparition behind her. Spinning around with her hand on her heart, she found Nix looking up at her with wide orb-like eyes.

"Nix," she said breathlessly. "What—?"

"Master says to take care of you. Nix has filled the bathtub. Here are clothes for Miss and a towel."

She was speechless.

"Nix have you… did you know Draco was alive this entire time?"

"No," he said, matter-of-factly. "Nix didn't know. Missus told Nix two weeks ago. She told Nix to look after him."

Hermione reeled back. Narcissa knew… but when had she found out? How long had she known and told no one?

"Nix can wait while Miss bathes."

She blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Nix can wait while Miss bathes."

A blush crept up her neck, spotting her cheeks. "You mean…t-to wait with me in the bathroom? Oh no!" she laughed nervously. "I don't think that's necessary."

She cleared her throat but the elf simply stood there staring.

"Thank you Nix," she said softly. "But you can go now. I'll call you if I need you."

With an innocent smile, he disapparated.

Her eyes widened. Cleary, Draco's house-elf didn't care much for personal boundaries.

Despite her reluctance to do what, 'Master' had requested, she really did want to bathe. She just wanted to do something normal, to get clean and wash everything away.

Without looking at her reflection in the mirror, she unzipped her bridesmaid's dress and let it pool to the floor. She stepped into the bubble bath Nix had drawn for her. It was soft and comforting. She ducked her head under once and only spent a few minutes luxuriating in its warm folds. Partly because she didn't want to fall asleep and drown in the bathtub and partly because she was worried Nix would unexpectedly pay her a visit.

Stepping out and wrapping a towel around herself, Hermione fumbled around in the drawers under the sink, looking for a toothbrush. She found a new one still in its packet. After having brushed her teeth she walked back into the bedroom, unfolding the clothes Nix had given her and spread them out over the bed. Shorts and a simple spaghetti strap top. Hermione chucked them to the corner of the room in a fit. She marched to the large French wardrobe, pulling both doors open. Her fingers brushed the sleeves of his shirts, his soft jumpers. No robes, she noticed, but jackets. Everything was so muggle. She grabbed a perfectly folded t-shirt and brought it to her nose.

Bergamot and… and the woods after it's rained.

It was familiar and yet different. She smiled, changing into it. Then she began pulling everything out and piling them on top of the bed till the wardrobe was empty, save for his pants, socks, trousers, and belt. She fell onto the bed, burying herself in his clothes. She could smell him everywhere and it was the happiest she'd felt in years.

Some minutes later she heard the bedroom door open. Her eyes were closed and she was burrowed underneath all his clothes in the fetal position. She heard him release a heavy sigh, no doubt aggravated about ruining his well-organized wardrobe.

She heard the wardrobe creak open, followed by the thud of his towel falling to the floor. Then she felt him start to take the clothes off the bed, one by one.

"Don't," she whispered. "Please, leave them."

"I thought you'd fallen asleep."

She opened her eyes. "How can I ever sleep again?"

His fingers were clutching a t-shirt but he was clad in nothing but boxers, freshly showered. "Maybe it was a mistake to bring you here," he whispered.

Hermione didn't dignify that statement with a response. Her fingers reached for his right arm and pulled him toward her. "This," she murmured, tracing a tattoo she'd never seen before. "It's new…"

He looked at it and fell to sit on the edge of the bed.

"It kept me hidden. It was probably why you couldn't find me."

She studied the tattoo, geometrical… a blossoming flower on his right forearm while his left was still marred by the Dark Mark. Not knowing the significance of each must have frightened him when he remembered nothing. Hermione sat up, moving closer, her eyes drifting over a body she thought she knew but had changed.

"And these?" she asked, tracing the white scars on his back.

He visibly gulped. "My education."

Her heart constricted.

"What happened to the boy I found crying in the bathroom?"

His eyes found hers. Steel looking out. "He was frightened and weak, and I have outgrown him."

"But I loved that boy," she kissed his shoulder. "I still love him."

She pulled him into her, cradling him close to her chest. Draco closed his eyes, letting himself lay pasted next to her, cotton between skin. As she wound her fingers through his hair, her fingers grazed the shell of his ear, the way she used to… it was his lullaby.

"I don't know how I ever slept without you," he confessed.

Hermione caressed the sharp lines of his face. "I don't know how I ever lived without you…"

She laid her palm flat against the drumming of his heart and let her eyes close; for the first time knowing that when she opened them again he wouldn't disappear like a figment of her imagination.